


(Where You From?) Must Be Heaven

by perfectlystill



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - San Junipero, F/F, First Time, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: The pavement glitters, wet from rain Camila missed - she wonders if it ever really rains here, or maybe it's just an effect, a recognition of the ebullience that follows the rain when the sun breaks through the clouds and the sky turns blue again - and she's careful, looking at her pink jelly shoes, but there aren't any puddles, and she finds herself rubbing shoulders with the crowd, pushing open the club doors.San Junipero AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from bad pick-up lines and "Reflection," because I didn't give in and go with "Heaven Is a Place On Earth." The fourth wall is a gift that should be respected, lies, etc.

The world is pastel, brighter than Camila can remember anything being. 

It hurts her eyes, and she blinks against it: the movie poster for _Can't Hardly Wait_ framed against the brick of a building and surrounded by tiny light bulbs like a marquee, stating: "Tonight's the Party," and the animal print clothing, and the crowd of people making their way toward a club, music spilling out when the door opens every few seconds: _I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down._

She's not used to this much happening around her, and she lets herself stare, bowing her head when she accidentally makes eye contact with someone. 

Everyone is young. 

Camila feels young, too. 

She inhales. The air smells fresh, and it feels crisp in her lungs. It feels good. It feels really good. 

There's part of her that's afraid she won't remember how to do this - that she _never_ knew how to do this. But she won't stand here all night, watching other people live while she wastes her time. 

The pavement glitters, wet from rain Camila missed - she wonders if it ever really rains here, or maybe it's just an effect, a recognition of the ebullience that follows the rain when the sun breaks through the clouds and the sky turns blue again - and she's careful, looking at her pink jelly shoes, but there aren't any puddles, and she finds herself rubbing shoulders with the crowd, pushing open the club doors. 

It's pastel here, too, bright, but darker. 

The music rings in her ears, and she wanders through the place. There are colored lights, booths covered in black leather, and a room in the back with a few pool tables, dart boards, and an air hockey table. She pulls a dart out, presses it gently against her thumb, enough to feel it, but not hard enough to puncture the skin. Camila almost laughs, because if she did poke through, she doesn't know if she would even bleed. 

She puts the dart back, right in the bullseye.

 

 

Camila heads to the bar, leans against it and waits patiently for her turn. 

"What'cha having?" the bartender asks. She's tall, and her voice naturally rises above the noise. 

She tilts her head, and Camila thinks she knows this is her first time. "Just a Sprite."

"Just a Sprite? Girl, live a little." Her laugh is boisterous, but she grabs the soda without pushing. "Ice?" 

"No, thanks."

"Ridiculous," the bartender mutters, popping the top of the can and pouring the soda into a glass. She slides it across the bar. "Don't be nervous. You can do anything you want here." 

Camila bites her lip. "Thanks."

She takes a sip, feeling the carbonation bubble down her throat. The syrupy sweetness only seems to make her more thirsty, but she likes it. She stands by the bar, watching the girl muddle some limes for a drink. After handing it out, she notices Camila. "Okay, I know I'm hot stuff, but I'm not really looking for anything right now."

"Sorry. Me either." Camila blushes and feels the embarrassment flash hotly through her entire body. "Can I please get a water, too?"

"You know," the bartender starts, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle. "I'm going to turn you into someone less boring one of these days. But you look like a deer in headlights, so I'll let it slide tonight."

"Thanks?" 

"If you need anything, just holler. Name's Dinah."

"Camila." Camila holds out her hand.

"Dear Lord." Dinah smirks, but she shakes Camila's hand, anyway.

 

 

Camila takes her drinks and settles into an empty booth. She has a good view of the dancefloor, and she watches the bodies move in a syncopated rhythm, disjointed but connected. There's a large group of girls shimmying and twirling just to the left of Camila. A short girl throws her head back and laughs, and Camila bites down around a smile. There's a couple, the man's hands on the woman's waist, hers looped loosely around his neck, swaying like a ballad is blasting through the speakers instead of Ace of Base. There's a guy doing a poor moonwalk, and Camila appreciates the effort, the fearlessness - or maybe he's just too wasted to realize he's in the wrong year. And also very uncoordinated. 

Everyone here is happy.

Camila wonders if she could be happy here, too. She wonders if her happiness would be accompanied by guilt, and if that undercuts it enough to make the happiness impossible to sustain. She's caught between wanting to like it here, determined to make the most of the opportunity, and wanting to stay detached. She doesn't want leaving to hurt. 

She gulps some water, the song changes, and a beautiful girl slides next to her. 

"Scooch a little," she says. Her voice is husky, and Camila feels it pulse through her body and make her head go a little fuzzy. She wonders if Dinah slipped some vodka into her Sprite, so she takes another sip, but she thinks it tastes the way she remembers. It's been a long time. 

"Follow my lead," the girls says, throwing her arm over the back of the booth, almost around Camila's shoulders.

"What?" 

Everyone here is weird, too. 

"I just need--"

"Lauren, can you please stop running away?" a guy interrupts. 

Lauren turns to him, but her arm drops a little. Camila can sense her fingers a brush away from her shoulder. 

"I'm not running away." Lauren rolls her eyes. "It was a one time thing."

"But it was good, wasn't it?" He pushes at some hair that flops right back down into his face. 

"It was fine."

"Don't you think we could be good together?"

Lauren sighs. "No, I don't."

"You don't even want to give us a shot?"

"Brad, come on. Last week was fun, but that was all it was. I'm sure there are plenty of girls here who think your Wannabe-Leo look is husband material, but I'm not one of them. Now, if you'd please, I just discovered that my old friend is here, and we'd really like to catch up." Her fingers finally nudge against Camila's skin, and Camila feels it like an electric shock. 

"Yeah. We haven't seen each other in years," Camila offers. 

Brad looks between the two of them skeptically, eyes seeming to linger on the space - or lack thereof - between them, Lauren's arm now fully around Camila's shoulder, gently squeezing like reassurance.

"She doesn't have a long time," Lauren adds.

"A few weeks. I'm not staying," Camila offers. 

Brad's eyebrows scrunch together, and he shrugs. "Fine. We can talk later, though, right?" 

"Whatever," Lauren says.

Brad slinks back into the crowd, shoulders slumped and head down. 

"Oh my god." Lauren retracts her arm. Camila feels cold. "Sorry about that. He would not take no for an answer. Boys, right?"

"Right?" Camila smiles tightly. Lauren's very pretty in her little black dress, and Camila glances down at her own outfit, feeling very average and very under dressed. 

"So, thank you." She runs a hand through her hair. "I'm Lauren, by the way."

"Camila."

"Camila," Lauren repeats, and it sounds good coming out of her mouth, different than the way Camila usually hears it, softer and closer. "What are you drinking? I can buy you another."

"Oh. Just soda."

Lauren smiles, taps her fingers against Camila's knee before slipping out of the booth and holding out her hand. "Let's get you something else. You're much too sober for tonight."

"Why?" Camila asks, but she's already putting her hand in Lauren's.

"Because it's Saturday night."

Lauren makes it sound like foolproof logic. 

Camila thinks she'd do just about anything if Lauren said it like that, confident and warm, with her eyes bright, sparking like she and Camila share a secret. 

 

 

Lauren orders two strawberry margaritas, and Dinah winks at Camila when she hands them over.

"Cheers," Lauren says.

"Cheers," Camila echoes, clinking their glasses. 

She takes a cautionary sip. It's sweet like her Sprite, but she can definitely taste the alcohol. It's not bad. Camila prefers her soda, but if she's going to be lucky enough to spend tonight with Lauren, she thinks she'll need some liquid courage. Lauren licks at the salt on her lips, and Camila reminds herself this is the kind of thing she came here to do.

"How long have you been here?" Camila asks. 

"In Paraíso?" 

"Yeah." Camila nods and takes another gulp of her drink, her eye twitching as she swallows. Lauren catches it and laughs, loud like Dinah. Except Lauren laughs like Camila's the funniest person she's ever met, and it feels intimate, like something for just the two of them. It clenches in Camila's chest. It's nice. 

"Oh, I'm just visiting. What about you?"

"Me too." Camila wants to smile. "It's my first time, actually."

"Your first night?" 

"Yeah."

It's silly, but it makes her feel young and naive. Camila realizes that's probably true. At least the naive part. She knows the young part isn't. 

"We'll make it a good one." Lauren takes a sip of her drink, watching Camila over the rim of her glass. The song changes, and Lauren smirks, mouth tilting toward dirty. "Do you want to dance?"

"I'm not a good dancer," Camila says.

Lauren's looks her up and down. "I'm sure you're a better dancer than your outfit suggests."

Camila fiddles with a spaghetti strap and looks down at her high-waisted, stonewashed jeans. She thought the matching jelly shoes and bracelets were cute. She looks around the club, at the crop tops, the mini skirts, slip dresses. She looks at Lauren's tight black dress. She feels dumb. "It's ugly, isn't it?"

"A little, but you pull it off." Lauren scrunches her nose. "Almost."

"But, uh, I'm super clumsy. Like, I'll probably elbow you in the ribs, or trip over my own two feet and get a bloody nose. Can you get a bloody nose here?"

"Camila." Lauren sets her drink down on the bar. "Stop overthinking it."

Lauren sways onto the dancefloor, looking over her shoulder once, eyes dark and mouth pink. She crooks her finger, beckoning Camila forward, and Camila feels something heavy tugging at her chest. She feels it like an imaginary string attaching them, pulling her along. The song over the speakers feels heavy, and she only catches a few words like _destiny_ and _crush_ and _adrenaline_. It's enough - more than enough. 

She does her best to match Lauren's fluidity, the undulating of her hips. The rhythm of the music is a heavy anchor, and it all swirls together. Camila can't help it; she stares, and she wouldn't be surprised if her mouth is parted, eyes blown wide like the wasted people around them. She wonders if half a drink is enough to get her drunk. Her mind says no, but the beating of her heart says otherwise. The thought that she's drunk on something besides alcohol flits ridiculously through her head. 

Lauren's hands glide slowly down the sides of her own body, and Camila bites at the corner of her mouth. She reaches out, fingers clenching at Lauren's waist and pulling her closer. The sparks are back, and Lauren moves her arms around Camila's shoulders, hands coming together behind her neck. It reminds Camila of the couple she saw earlier. She can feel Lauren's breath on her skin, and the thrill of it makes her bold. She pulls Lauren closer, swallows and tilts her head. Camila looks up at her through her eyelashes. 

Lauren bumps their noses together. 

Camila kisses her. 

It's soft and quick, hesitant.

Camila doesn't really know how this is supposed to go. 

Lauren isn't the first person she's kissed. But she's the first person she's kissed in a long time, and she's scared she's out of practice, that it's not the same as riding a bike. 

But when she pulls away, Lauren chases her mouth, smearing her lips against Camila's. She bites at Camila's bottom lip, and Camila lets her in, the spark igniting in the pit of her stomach. Lauren's nails scratch at the nape of her neck, and Camila pulls Lauren's hip closer to hers. She wants her closer, closer, closer. 

"Is there somewhere we could go?" Camila breathes against her mouth. 

When Camila pressed her lips to the corner of Lauren's jaw, she hears Lauren exhale: "I've got a place."

 

 

Lauren's place is by the water. Everything is white: the porch, the blinds, the sofa, the sheets on her bed.

It smells like jasmine and vanilla. The moon shines through the slants in the shutters. It's comfortable and warm, reminds Camila of a vacation home or the places retirees used to live in.

When Lauren gently pushes her toward the bed, it almost feels like a dream, so Camila holds her face in her hands, feels her skin, smooth and warm, brushes her thumbs over her cheekbones and kisses her. She focuses on the feel of Lauren above her, real and _there_. She licks into Lauren's mouth, works a thigh between Lauren's legs and presses up. The answering moan is the best sound, and Camila wants to hear it again, again again. 

She has never done this before, never gotten the chance. In the back of her mind, Camila knows this will be something to check off on her "Things To Do Before It's Over" list, but she's glad she's too caught up in the feeling of Lauren's hand rucking up her shirt, splaying over her ribs, pressing against her stomach and making her skin feel like a livewire, fingers inching up toward her bra, to think about it too much. This way she's present. This way it's better. A memory instead of a goal she has to accomplish. 

Lauren bites at her collarbone before soothing it with her tongue. "You're beautiful," she breathes against Camila's skin. 

Camila wants to reply, but she feels like her heart is beating in her throat, and her hands feel shaky, fingernails digging into Lauren's shoulder blades. 

Lauren palms at her breast over her bra, and Camila's thigh presses against her again. She kisses Camila on the mouth, hard, all teeth and tongue and want. When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against Camila's, breathing heaving, hand finding the hem of her tank top before sitting back and helping Camila pull it over her head. 

She sits back, straddling one of Camila's thighs. Lauren's eyes are dilated and dark, hair mussed. Her dressed is bunched up by her waist, and her lips are plump and red, wet from being kissed. The best and worst part is she looks at Camila like she might be someone special, like she found something she's been looking for but didn't think actually existed, fond and affectionate.

Camila clears her throat, afraid she's going to choke on it. 

She has to say something: "I've never--"

"Oh." Lauren's eyes don't change. 

She leans down and kisses Camila, soft, a hand fluttering against her cheek, knuckles gently tracing her jawline before her fingers dance over her neck, curving into her shoulder and down her arm. Lauren laces their fingers together. "Do you want to?" she whispers.

"Yes."

Lauren smiles against her mouth, presses a kiss to her chin, the hollow at the base of her throat, her belly button. 

Camila shivers. 

Lauren helps her when she fumbles with the clasp of her own bra, flushing equally with how idiotic that is and how vulnerable she feels with Lauren looking at her. 

Lauren kisses up Camila's inner thigh. Lauren puts her mouth on her. 

They're still holding hands, and Lauren looks up from between her legs. "Is this okay?"

"Yes."

The part of her with that list knows it's not. 

 

 

After, they sit on the porch swing, because of course there's a porch swing. 

Camila wants to laugh. 

She has a blanket wrapped around herself, and she holds it together over her chest, watching the waves roll against the shore. Lauren sits next to her, cigarette between her fingers. She threw on Camila's tank top, and Camila feels it forming a knot in the pit of her stomach.

Lauren exhales, and Camila watches the smoke dissipate into the night sky. "Smoking's a bad habit," she says. 

"I know." Lauren quirks an eyebrow. "That's why I haven't done it in forty years."

"It could kill you."

Lauren smiles slowly, and it turns into a laugh, and Camila can't help but laugh, too. 

"How much longer do you have?" she asks. 

Lauren shrugs. "A few weeks. A few months. When it gets really bad, I'll pass over. You?"

"Six weeks," Camila says. She looks out at the water, at the full moon and the stars. 

"Six weeks," Lauren repeats back. "But then you'll be here full time."

Camila chews on her bottom lip. She takes a deep breath and turns to look at Lauren. "No. I'm not passing over."

"Oh." Lauren's eyebrow furrows and she frowns.

Camila fights the urge to lean over, smooth out the skin with her thumb and kiss her mouth into a grin. "My sister ... she died before Paraíso. So ..."

"Oh." Lauren blinks, reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind Camila's ear. "So, six weeks."

"Is that okay?" Camila asks. 

Lauren nods, but she's not focusing on Camila. She turns her head, taking a drag of her cigarette. 

Camila wants to say something else. She wants to explain. 

The clock strikes twelve. 

 

 

The next week, Camila tries something different. 

She wears a silk blouse with a high-waisted leather mini skirt, trying it without tights before snapping some black ones into place. She doesn't know if that's better or worse, but she feels more comfortable, and the idea of Lauren rolling them down makes her heart pulse between her thighs. 

She goes back to the club and greets Dinah with a wave. 

Dinah whistles. "Someone upped their game." 

"Does it look bad?" Camila plays with the collar of her blouse and rocks on the balls of her feet. 

"Please," Dinah scoffs. "You fine as hell." 

"Thanks." Camila smiles. "Have you seen Lauren?"

"Not tonight."

"Okay." Camila figures she's just running late - she ignores the pinch between her ribs that tells her she spent a good hour of their precious time standing in front of a mirror trying to decide what to wear, that Lauren should already be here. She pulls out one of the stools and takes a seat. "I'll have a Sprite."

Dinah groans, but grabs her the soda.

They chat for almost an hour about Dinah's family, how long Dinah's been here - over a decade - and her best friend Ally. Dinah's so funny Camila pees herself - turns out that's not really a problem here, because the next moment she's in her same outfit, dry and clean. Dinah clarifies that she can't really bleed in Paraíso, either, but it does rain sometimes. 

Camila really likes Dinah, but the longer they talk, the more anxiety builds in her gut, and she keeps spinning around and craning her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Lauren. 

"I don't think she's coming," Dinah says. 

Camila frowns. "Me either."

"You want something stronger?"

"Yeah."

 

 

Camila is absolutely tipsy when Brad leans against the counter and orders a beer. 

"Hey!" Camila says, and even she winces at how loud and high her voice sounds. 

He glances at her briefly before wrapping his hand around the bottle's neck. "Hey." 

"Have you seen Lauren?"

He looks at her again, eyes searching. Camila bristles when he clicks his tongue. "You too, huh?"

"No." She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. "We were supposed to meet here. She's probably just running late." 

His smile is full of pity. "Occasionally, she picks different years, but I'm sure she told you that."

Camila blinks. "Thanks."

Things she can do here: vomit in the bathroom. 

 

 

Camila tries legwarmers, a ribbon in artfully messy hair and lacy, fingerless gloves, Madonna blaring around the club. Camila tries ripped, acid wash jeans and a camisole top layered over a long-sleeved canary yellow shirt, crimping her hair like Lizzie McGuire did sometimes. It only reminds her of the loneliness of middle school. Camila tries a monochromatic dress with a peter pan collar, the music when she steps out of the club after two hours mocking her: _When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be_. 

Camila realizes she's spending her time trying to track down a girl who doesn't want to be found. 

She's using up the only life she has for nothing. 

Camila finds her in 1993, UB40 moving the bodies on the dance floor. She's wearing an oversized flannel over a band shirt, ripped jeans and combat boots. Her lipstick is dark, and before Lauren spots her, Camila thinks about what it would look like on her skin. When their eyes connect, Camila doesn't look away. Her mouth thins and she stares until Lauren blinks, shakes her head, and forces a laugh at whatever the woman she's sitting with just said. 

Heat blazes in Camila's chest, and she wants to cry. She doesn't know what she thought would happen; she knew Lauren didn't want to see her again. But there was a small part of her, quiet but persistent, that hoped when - if - she found Lauren, that Lauren would meet her eyes and immediately understand how Camila feels without words, see the metaphorical light and run into her arms. 

There's something cruel about watching Lauren lean toward someone else, about watching someone else's hand flutter by her elbow. When the woman places her palm on Lauren's knee, Lauren glances in Camila's direction, and the fire in her chest sparks, smoke caught in her eye. She inhales, sharp and shaky, and pushes up, rushing toward the bathroom before the tears fall. 

She finds an empty stall and sits on the toilet, head in her hands. Her face is sticky, her eyes puffy, and she thinks she shouldn't be allowed to feel this way here. The only tears should be jubilant ones. 

Someone knocks on her stall, and Camila sniffles, looking up at the door. 

"Camila?" Lauren asks. 

Camila blinks, and her face is dry. 

"I get it, okay?" She swallows, stands and smooths out her dress. "It was a one time thing. I'm not that special." 

"Camila," Lauren says, a sad timbre to the words. 

Camila doesn't understand how she can feel like this. 

This place is supposed to make her feel the opposite of this. 

"I'm sorry." Camila unlocks the door and comes out of the stall, walking passed Lauren and to the sinks, turning on a faucet and washing her hands. "You can go back to that girl. I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Lauren argues. 

Camila catches her eye in the mirror. Her brow furrowed, lip caught between her teeth. She's beautiful still, probably always. Camila breathes and it feels cold in her chest, like there's a hole. There isn't, especially not here. Not now. It's dramatic, and Camila wonders if her young body made her heart young, too, her emotions intense and fragile like they were at fifteen and nineteen and twenty-two. 

"I just thought," Camila starts, shutting off the sink and shaking her hands out, one quick motion and they're bone dry. She turns and leans against the counter. "I thought we were going to meet up again. I guess I was wrong."

"I'm sorry, but what was I supposed to do?"

"Show up."

"Why? Because it's convenient for you? Six weeks and then you're gone."

"Six weeks is a long time," Camila says. 

"No, it's not. It's not worth it." Lauren sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Her shoulders drop. She looks small. "You don't get everything you want just because you want it. I mean, yeah, mostly you do." She rolls her eyes, mouth twisting like she wants to smile but can't. "I'm not going to let myself fall for you for six weeks just to lose you, okay? Its not fair." Her lip trembles, and Camila wants to kiss her. "You made your choice, and I get to make mine."

"You could have at least told me." 

Lauren shakes her head. "No, because now that you're here, I don't want you to go."

"Now that I'm here, I don't want to go, either," Camila confesses. 

Guilt curls around her spine, but Lauren bridges the gap between them, swipes her thumb against Camila's cheek and kisses her.

Camila thinks Lauren's mouth against hers, fingers notching over her spine and making her head spin, causing warmth to bubble through her body like the fizz when you pour a soda, is what Paraíso is supposed to be. 

 

 

They find themselves back at Lauren's place, rocking gently on the porch swing and looking out into a night not unlike the last one they spent together: clear, the moon full and high. They're pressed against each other, and Camila rests her head on Lauren's shoulder. Between the salt in the air and the lingering scent of coffee and coconut, it smells like home. The quiet between them is easy and comfortable. Camila splays her hand over Lauren's knee, absently tapping patterns. She has always wanted to learn Morse code, but never got the chance. Making up her own, she taps her name into the bone.

"I love the beach," Lauren says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, hoarse from disuse. "I used to go as often as possible."

"Me too." Camila feels the smile stretching over her mouth. "The water always made me feel so buoyant. I mean," Camila laughs, and Lauren places her hand over Camila's. Their fingers slot together like puzzle pieces. "I felt light. Like I could survive anything. A wave could crash over my head, but then I'd pop back up, float to the top."

"That's beautiful."

"Thanks." Camila presses a kiss against Lauren's shoulder and sits up to look at her. 

"The sand always just felt right between my toes. And the water made my skin feel soft. I don't know, like the salt rubbed away all the dry stuff."

"All the bad stuff," Camila clarifies. "I think I always spent too long in the water. I bypassed that and went right to dry skin. All scales."

Lauren laughs, completely fond. "You'd make a cute fish."

Camila puckers her lips, and Lauren laughs louder, throwing her head back. Camila squeezes her knee. "I used to take my sister."

"I never wanted to go with my siblings," Lauren says. She flips Camila's hand on her knee so their palms are pressed together, but she doesn't lace their fingers. "I thought I was too cool for them."

"They were probably too cool for you."

"Hey!" Lauren nudges her shoulder. "I was very cool."

"True," Camila agrees easily, reaching over to bop Lauren's nose with her finger. "A pierced nose never lies."

"Damn right." There's a laugh in Lauren's eyes, her mouth twisting up into a smile that veers too wide and giggly to be anything other than dorky. 

Camila tries very, very hard not to think about concepts like forever. 

She inhales, holds Lauren's hand properly and squeezes. She thinks she needs the strength. She needs to say it aloud, to remind Lauren and herself why she can't have forever.

"I was driving my sister to the beach. She kept messing with the radio. Like she always did. But I was in a bad mood because my girlfriend had broken up with me the day before. And every time I swatted her hand away, she'd giggle and yell and reach for the dial again. I think Jewel was playing when it happened. She twisted the dial, and "You Were Meant for Me" came through the speakers, and my girlfriend _loved_ Jewel, which was absurd. Because like, who our age loved Jewel, you know? And I wasn't paying attention." Camila swallows. Lauren's hand is warm in hers, an anchor. "And I remember glancing up at the red light, but I was too late. I don't even remember if Sofi screamed."

Camila breathes. The air feels heavy in her chest. She looks down, at her hand in Lauren's, at Lauren's thumb rubbing soothing patterns against her skin. Her voice still cracks: "She didn't make it."

"I'm sorry."

Lauren wipes away her tears. 

 

 

Lauren's chest is still heaving, and Camila still has the taste of her on her tongue. 

"Marry me," she says. 

"What?" Lauren's voice is wrecked, dazed, and Camila feels like she could go again. 

She glances at the clock: 11:52. 

"I'm in Miami."

"What?" Lauren sits up, eyes wide. "Like, for real?"

"Yes. If you want to, I mean." 

Camila knows they could get married here, but getting married in Paraíso only counts in Paraíso. Camila wants a record for the rest of the world. She wants future generations to know that Lauren was hers and she was Lauren's, even if it was only for a few hours for six weeks. She wants other people to know it's real. 

It's the realest thing she's known in fifty years. 

"Okay." Lauren's smile is slow. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

 

 

When Lauren visits, Camila can almost feel the familiar warmth spread in her chest. Her hair is grey, face dotted with age spots like freckles, the crow's feet around her eyes tell stories of laughter and smiles, a life well-lived. Her movements are slow and deliberate, like she's being careful not to fall, even though Camila's nurse has a hand around her elbow. Her eyes are the same, bright and fond, and Camila loves her. 

She wants to open her mouth and tell her, wants to get up and hold her, wants to kiss her.

All she can do is look. 

Lauren touches her hand. "Hi."

Camila blinks and watches the smile spread over Lauren's face. 

Lauren gestures to her dress: simple, casual, white. A wedding dress. "For you, Camz."

Camila can't smile, but with the way Lauren laughs, she thinks Lauren knows she would if she could. 

She gets to hear how wet and happy Lauren sounds when she says "I do," the tears collecting in her eyes when she slips a cheap ring onto Camila's wrinkled finger. When the Justice of the Peace announces them legally wed, Lauren leans down and presses a kiss to her lips. When Camila lets her know she loves her, Lauren brushes a kiss against her forehead.

"I'll see you back home," Lauren whispers. 

Visiting hours are almost over, but it's only two more days until Saturday. 

 

 

Lauren's wearing white, sitting on the top step of the porch, chin in her palm, when Camila arrives, also in a wedding dress. 

Great minds. 

"Hey!" Camila waves both her arms above her head, the intensity of her smile already making her cheeks hurt. Energy snakes through her limbs, and she feels like she could run a marathon or climb a mountain, like her body has been saving it up for this moment. Her heart pounds erratically against her rib cage, and she hikes the skirt up enough to run toward Lauren, stumbling over her feet even though she's not wearing heels. 

They crash together, wrapping their arms around each other and bouncing up and down. Lauren's laugh is warm against Camila's ear. "Welcome home."

Camila pulls back, her arms dropping around Lauren's waist. "Hi," she says again, softer. "We're married."

"We are." 

Camila feels Lauren's smile in her toes. 

She carries Lauren over the threshold, and then makes them go back outside so Lauren can carry her over it, too.

They're a giggling mess in bed. Lauren accidentally pulls one of the beads on the bodice of Camila's dress loose, and when Camila tries to pull Lauren's dress over her head, she gets stuck and starts complaining about lack of oxygen. When Camila finally frees her, throwing the material onto the floor, she smooths out Lauren's hair and kisses her temple, her eyebrow, her nose. 

Camila rides Lauren's thigh, Lauren's hands on her hips and mouth agape with want. She's looking at Camila like she hung the moon, and it snaps something in Camila's chest. She exhales: "I love you."

She can't stop saying it after that. She whispers it into the crook of Lauren's knee, pants it against her neck, kisses it into her mouth: _I love you, I love you, I love you_. She says it when Lauren comes undone around her fingers, toes curling into the sheets. 

 

 

"Dinah!" Camila yells, obnoxiously waving her left hand in front of the woman's face. 

"Oh my god." The bottle opener Dinah was holding clatters against the bar when she tosses it aside, reaching for Camila's hand. "What the fuck?"

"Lauren's my wife." The words feel good curling around Camila's tongue, happy and proud. 

Dinah's gaze shifts to Lauren, her eyebrows jumping, just barely, and Camila bites down around her smile. 

"This ring is absurd," Dinah says, shoving Camila's hand into Lauren's face. The one here is sparkly and large and aquamarine like Camila's birthstone. Camila loves it. 

Lauren rolls her eyes. "I spent an arm and a leg."

"Shut up," Dinah laughs. "At least you put a ring on it."

"Hey!" Camila interjects, tugging her hand free and pulling Lauren into her side. She likes the way Lauren swings an arm over her shoulder. "I'm the one who proposed."

Lauren leans over the bar, pretends to whisper in Dinah's ear: "She didn't even get down on one knee."

"Girl, you need some higher standards." Dinah scoffs, but she's still smiling. "Go enjoy your honeymoon, lovebirds. I have customers to serve." 

They twirl each other around the dance floor, laughing and singing along to Paula Cole, Wyclef Jean and Monica ("You did get down on the first night, though," Camila says, mouth brushing against Lauren's earlobe, hand tugging on a strand of Lauren's hair. Lauren tells her it was only because Camila was so eager and easy, and Camila lightly slaps her arm, huffing in fake offense). Camila spins Lauren too hard, accidentally losing her fingers, and she stumbles into a man dancing next to them. He tells her to watch where she's going, and Camila apologizes, tugging on Lauren's wrist when her voice gets a little harder: "It was an accident, asshole." 

Lauren cackles at Camila's running man, and they both do the sprinkler, awkwardly ducking and raising their arms to avoid whacking people in the head. There's something magical about kissing as the lights dance around them, Lauren's thumb swiping over Camila's pulse point as Faith Hill sings about perpetual bliss. There's something magical about this entire night. 

Camila knows this is heaven, but for the first time, she actually, viscerally feels it. 

She feels it in the press of Lauren's ring against her skin while they hold hands, the way Lauren's eyes crinkle when she laughs, and Camila can picture how that particular laugh could age her, imprint into her skin so she would always remember being this happy. She feels it in the way the satin of Lauren's wedding dress brushes against her skin, cool and smooth. 

 

 

The clock ticks down.

They drive back to the beach, let their dresses pool around their feet before running into the water. 

Camila doesn't know why she expected it to be freezing cold, but it's pleasantly warm - of course it is - the waves lapping around her skin. 

Everything is dim, muted, the ocean dark blue, bleeding into the night sky. The stars twinkle like they're on their last breath. It feels almost like a dream, and Camila submerges herself underwater, opens her eyes and finds it's easy. There aren't any rainbow fish swimming around, and the sand is soft and solid beneath her feet, no rocks or pebbles poking against her heels. She pops back up with a vague pressure in her chest, not unlike the air she needs escaping her lungs. She pushes her hair out of her face and finds Lauren's eyes. 

There's so much to say and not enough time. 

It's the best she can do: "Thank you." 

Lauren wades toward her, a smile flirting in her eyes. Her skin is pale in the moonlight, almost translucent, and Camila reaches out with a shaky hand, pressing her palm over Lauren's heart. She can feel it beating, and she grabs Lauren's palm, presses it against her own chest. 

"No problem," Lauren breathes around a laugh. 

"If I can miss anything," Camila starts, throat scratchy and head spinning. She feels faint. "I'm going to miss you."

"What?" Lauren pulls her hand back, jerking away so Camila's falls, too. "You didn't pass over?"

Camila blinks. 

They talked about this already.

"No."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lauren's nostrils flair and her eyes narrow, growing cold and hard. "You asked me to marry you."

"That didn't mean I changed my mind, Lauren. I just wanted us to have that before I left. Something for the world to remember us by. But I can't-" Her voice cracks. "I can't stay here. It'd be selfish. Sofi didn't get a chance to stay here. She would have loved it here."

"And I love it," Lauren says, shaking her head. "Fuck you, Camila. Honestly." The disbelief rippling around her eyes mingles with anger, and she turns away, heading toward the shore. 

Camila follows. 

She blinks, and Lauren's dressed in black.

Camila blinks again, and she's wearing the outfit she wore her first night here. 

"Please, stop, you don't understand." Camila reaches for Lauren's hand, but Lauren pulls back. "It's my fault she's not here."

"You think you're the only person who ever lost someone, Camila? I was with Keaton for nine years when he left me for someone else. Cancer got my best friend not even a year before Paraíso. The woman I married refused to pass over because she thought it'd be an affront to God. Ask anyone here, and they'll give you a similar, pathetic list."

"Lauren, _please_ ," Camila tries. She needs her to stop. She doesn't want Lauren to resent her forever. 

"I want to keep living, but I know it's useless to do it alone. I've spent my entire time here looking for someone to spend eternity with. It seems like most people here don't find that. Nothing real, anyway, and I could see why. None of them meant anything." She inhales, shaky. Her face blotchy, hands clenching into fists by her sides. "Until you."

Camila swallows, watching Lauren's face drop, blinking away the wetness stuck to her eyelashes. 

"And you won't stay because you feel guilty? That's bullshit. You can't punish yourself like that. You spent your life paralyzed; this is your second chance."

"I know," Camila interrupts. "That's why I wanted to come here. I wanted to live before I died."

"Congratulations," Lauren spits, bitter. "I'm glad I could help."

She turns, sprints to the car and drives away, leaving Camila standing in the sand, watching the words JUST MARRIED smeared on the back window as she weaves along the path, up toward town. Tears dry on her face, but Camila doesn't want them gone. She wants to feel this heartbreak, real and raw and cracking in her bones. 

This is her fault, too. 

She assumed Lauren understood. 

She hopes Lauren knows she meant everything. 

Camila wipes at her face, looks at the watch on her wrist. 

There's a few minutes left. 

She needs to find her. 

She needs to tell her she loves her. 

Maybe that's selfish, too. Maybe Camila's learned nothing but selfishness and guilt, but she needs Lauren to know.

 

 

There's a crash. 

Camila's there.

For a fraction of a second, Lauren is dead. 

"Lauren," Camila breathes, running to her, lungs heaving, reaching out. 

Lauren blinks up at her. 

Midnight.

 

 

Camila remembers what it felt like to see the car rammed into a tree, hood bent like an accordion, engine smoking. She remembers what it felt like to see Lauren curled on the gravel, dirt smudged against her forehead, a cut already scabbing over on her lip. She remembers the scream ripping itself from her lungs, hard and painful, and sounding entirely nonhuman. Her knees almost gave out underneath her, her entire body going cold, goosebumps on her skin, heart stopping in her chest. 

She waits. 

She waits and makes certain.

 

 

Lauren's sitting by the water, hair tumbling over her back, head bent as she reads a book. Camila thinks she's close enough that the tide might caress her toes. 

Her heart swells in her chest. 

This is it.

Camila slips her flip-flops off her feet and tiptoes toward Lauren, attempting to keep her breathing even, to keep the smile threatening to split her face in half at bay. She covers Lauren's eyes with her hands, feels the woman tense underneath her. "Guess who," she says. It comes out cautious. 

"Oh my god." Lauren tugs at Camila's wrists, tilting her head back to look up at her. The book she was holding tumbles to the side, flipping closed. 

The sun sits high in the clear blue sky, shining down and casting a warm glow around them. "Hi."

"You changed your mind," Lauren says slowly, and her eyes sparkle with the grin that makes itself known on her mouth a beat later. Happiness looks beautiful on her, and Camila likes it even more when she's the cause. 

"I love you," Camila says. 

Lauren shifts, tackling her to the ground. Camila's head hits the sand and it hurts for a moment, but then Lauren's hand is in her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, her laugh brighter than the sun as she lies against Camila, body warm and soft and real. "I love you, too."

Lauren kisses her, achingly slow, and it feels a lot like _I love you_ sounds coming out of her mouth. 

Camila smiles against Lauren's lips.

Forever kickstarts in her heart.


End file.
